And Lose
by softer
Summary: Sequel to 'To Love' and set about a year after it.  It's 11:02 and she still isn't home.
1. Worry

_HEY: remember that sequel I promised you guys seven hundred days ago? Well a liar, I am not. I know it's been well over a week, but better late then never (I think)._  
_Anyways I underestimated the pressure a sequel promises- it's a lot of hype and anticipation and expectations to meet. I hope I did it justice. _

_I'm going to try and be good about posting, I promise. :)

* * *

_

_First and foremost to my girls: Andy, for being the most thoughtful, giving person, and for Emily, for being my partner in crime and the bad cop at the same time.  
AC, your order is ready. Sorry for being such a tease.  
And Susan: never stop doing what you do no matter what. _

**Worry**

**...**

The only sound that could be heard was clicking as Richard Castle typed. The soft, rhythmic clicking as fingers pressed against familiar, well-worn keys. Yes the fingers and the keys were very well acquainted, friends and co-workers, even. Fingers pounded across the keyboard, sometimes lightly and tentatively, but more often than not, hard, determined and purposefully.

The clicking filled the spacious office, and it was all that could be heard in the entire apartment. The lights were off- all but the light emanating from the computer screen. Night had fallen hours ago, but the writer refused to follow the sun in its slumber, content to keep the moon company. The words poured from his fingertips, fumbling every now and again as his fingers simply could not keep up with his brain, words flowing without effort.

It was rare that writing was this easy, this fluent.

He checked the time.

11:07.

Alexis should be home by now.  
As a matter of fact, she should have been home seven minutes ago, like she was every night. It was rare she stayed out this late at all, but 'after curfew' was not an idea she would even entertain. His fingers paused in their typing, and the silence was louder than any flurry of cadenced clicks that he could muster. His fingers itched for something to do instantaneously, and despite his very noble attempts, he reached for the phone.

"_You've reached Alexis Castle. I couldn't get to the phone-" she was cut off, followed by the distant sound of her elbow meeting someone's chest, and then: "Dad, cut that out. Anyways, please leave your name and a message after the tone."_

The phone beeps, and her voicemail starts recording. She had been meaning to change that message for months, but she hadn't gotten around to it. "Hey, honey. Just me, checking in. Call me when you get this. I love you." With the simple message, he hung up the phone, staring at it an extra minute, worry lining his face.

That was weird.  
He never got the machine.

This thought alone had him punching Paige's cell phone number faster than he knew was possible. He always had the number, just in case, but he had never had to use it. Not until now.

"Hello?" A female voice answered on the third ring. He recognized it as Paige.

"Paige, hey, it's Richard Castle- Alexis's dad?"

"Hey Mr. C!" she replied enthusiastically. "What's up?" The girl didn't question his reason for calling, despite the paucity of the occasion.

"Just calling to check in. I tried calling Alexis's cell but it went to voicemail. Everything okay over there?" He kept his voice casual. If Paige didn't think anything was out of the normal, either did he.

"What do you mean? Alexis left my apartment over an hour ago. Didn't she make it home okay?"

The next call Castle made was the last one of the evening. One and a half rings was all it took, and the line picked up.

"Beckett?" a groggy voice answered.

**...**

Kate woke to screaming. It wasn't the familiar wail of the alarm clock set to a static AM channel, but to the all-too-familiar sound of a ringtone, paired with the obnoxious sound of plastic vibrating on wood. A hand shot out from beneath the warmth of the pillow her head was resting on, reaching blindly for the source of the noise. Her fingers curled around the cell phone after only a moment of searching, and she raised it to her ear, rolling over to her back in the same motion.

"Beckett," she greeted her voice groggy, clogged with sleep. She didn't even have the energy to glance at the clock beside her, but she knew it was late. Castle's voice filled her ears. He was talking loud and fast, tripping over words and skipping others so that his sentences weren't making sense. "Castle, slow down," her voice still laced with sleepiness, but it was fading as she tried to decipher what he was trying to say. Thank god this time he listened to her.

"I'm really sorry to wake you up, Beckett, but I really need-" but she cut him off, a hand threading her hair.

"Castle if this is a Nikki Heat question I swear to god-" but she didn't even get to finish her sentence before he choked out:

"It's Alexis. I don't know where she is, Kate, and-" The shake in his voice and the use of her first name sent her flying out of bed even as he rambled on, holding her phone to her ear with one hand as she fought to get the nearest pair of jeans on.

"Castle," her voice was muffled for a moment as she pulled on a grey police academy hoodie. "You don't move, do you understand me? Stay put. I'm on my way." Her shoes were on and she was out of her apartment before she ended the call.

**...**

Kate knocked on the large, red door of Castle's apartment, and when he opened it, she didn't wait for an invitation, pushing past him and stopping in the foyer. "Hey," she greeted, when he turned to face her. "Where are your socks?" she asked, without thinking first. He was in what she had coined his 'work uniform'- a pair of sweats and a tee-shirt. His usually neatly combed hair was sticking out the way it did when he ran his hands through it too many times, and he was barefoot.

It wouldn't have been weird if he were barefoot, except it was freezing in the apartment and his work uniform always, _always_ involved socks. "They are the first thing I put on in the morning," he told her once, arching an eyebrow, playfully.

"What?" he asked, her, confused.

"You're not wearing any socks, Castle; your feet must be freezing." She wasn't sure why the lack of socks bothered her so much. Maybe it was easier to focus on the absence of the socks than it was the much louder absence of a certain teenage girl.

"I don't care; I want to find my daughter." The bluntness of his words caught her off-guard, and she suddenly cared much less about his lack of socks.

"Have you had anything to eat? Drink?" She asked, switching into Detective Beckett mode. She needed to make sure he was okay before even thinking about Alexis. She grabbed his arm, pulling him into the kitchen and under the stove's overhanging light.

"God, Kate, I'm telling you that my daughter had been unreachable for the last hour and a half, and you're talking about food?" He was confused and he was worried and the emotions were translating into anger. She ignored his burst, lifting his chin with her thumb and forefinger, looking at his eyes in the light.

Conflicted and blue as she'd ever seen them, but his pupils were dilating just fine. "Have you gotten sick or experienced shortness of breath?" She asked, using her grip on his jaw to pull his eyes down to meet hers, firmly.

"What is this, a monthly physical?"

"Answer the question."

"No, I haven't eaten, no I haven't thrown up and no, I haven't experienced shortness of breath," he replied, exasperatedly. "Will you let me go now?" she held him still a moment longer before deciding she was satisfied with the answers she got, releasing him from her grip.

She immediately turned to the refrigerator, opening it and helping herself to its contents. She pulled out a Tupperware container that held leftover lasagna and opened it, tossing it in the microwave. While it warmed up, she pulled out a pitcher of water and filled the cup that sat on the counter, pushing it towards her partner. "Drink this," she demanded.

He would have rather had scotch but he bit his tongue and obediently took a sip of the water. She retrieved the lasagna and pushed it towards him as well, grabbing a fork from the silverware drawer. He looked down at it, then to her.

"Humor me," she said, dryly. He managed three bites before pushing it away like a child who didn't want to eat his vegetables. She wasn't satisfied but she was so relieved he didn't put up a fight that she pulled him away from the harsh lights of the kitchen, sitting him down on the couch in the living room.

She sat down beside him, maybe a little closer than she should have, and pulled his hands into hers so they rested on her crossed legs. "Start from the beginning, Castle," she told him, forcing her voice to remain measured. "Don't leave anything out."

**...**

20 minutes later Castle finished his story, Kate asked her questions and they had a trace pending on Alexis's cell phone.

"Can you do that?" Castle had asked. She gave him a look that told him no, she couldn't, but she remained silent.

"I need to know if there is anywhere she would go. I want to put Ryan and Esposito on the streets, and I need to know where to focus them," she explained. "Is there anywhere she would run too? To get away, after a bad day?" She rubbed her thumb in a circle across the back of his hand, still clasped in hers, in her lap.

"Home." He said, after a moment. "She would come home." The crack in his voice nearly broke her but she didn't let it, instead squeezing his hand gently before she released it to pull out her cell phone. His hand stayed where she left it, resting on her leg as she made a call

"Ryan. Yes, I know what time it is. Yes. No, not a-" her eyes flicked to Castle, who was hanging on to her every word, and thought better of using the word 'murder.' "No," she said, simply, instead. "Look, I need your help. Personally," she added, hating the word as it crossed her lips. She hated asking favors, but by god she would ask a hundred favors to get the youngest Castle home safe.

She was only on the phone a few minutes longer before she had arranged for Ryan to meet Esposito and patrol Alexis's everyday route, as well as Paige's house and the closest subway stations.

When she hung up the phone, she grabbed Castle's hand back in her own.

"Why don't we get a whole taskforce to cover more ground?" he asked her. It wasn't an angry question or a patronizing one, but an honest one.

"Castle, you have to understand, if you go to the cops now with a seventeen year old, missing in action for two hours, they are going to file your report away and forget about it. Twenty-four hours is the customary time. There is some wiggle room, since she is a minor, but two hours won't cut it." She saw the pained expression on his face and squeezed his hand again. "They don't know Alexis like you do. They won't understand that she never goes out like this. Let Ryan and Esposito do what they do." Then, after a half a beat of hesitation: "Let me do what I do."

He looked at her for a long moment and she swore she would spontaneously combust. "Okay," his voice was so soft she almost missed it.

And for the first time that night, he squeezed her hand back.

**...**

_It's often just enough to be with someone. I don't need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You're not alone._

_Marilyn Monroe_


	2. Wait

_To all my girls, for being my support group. I hope this one is at least as good as the last one.  
Also, a sort of disclaimer: not very well versed in all that is protocol when it comes to this stuff, but I'm trying to keep it legitimate.  
Italics: flashback _

**Wait**

**...**

It killed her inside- just watching. There wasn't much else she could do, really, but watch. Watch as he paced the cold, hardwood floors in his bare feet. First he tried writing. That lasted about two minutes, before he had moved on to the television. He flipped through the seven billion channels he picked up and unimpressed by the results, abandoned that, too.

It was on to the bookshelf, then the radio, his RC cars, Farmville, every app on his iPhone. When he exhausted all recreational toys, he started cleaning.

She stood in the doorway of his office as he maneuvered the spacious room. He didn't bother explaining and she didn't need to ask, so neither spoke a word. He started at his desk, tossing papers into the recycling, straightening his desktop, cleaning out the drawers and dusting the shelves.

She just stood, her arms crossed, looking down at the expensive area rug. Her phone was tucked between her arm and he body, waiting of a phone call from one of her boys. _Hoping _for a call.

As he started rearranging his books in alphabetical order by author, she let her mind stray from the situation she found herself in.

_She was sitting on the floor in Castle's study, Alexis sitting opposite her . There were piles of books circling the duo, the shelves they belonged in emptied. "Oh, I love this one," Alexis would exclaim, grabbing a book and holding it open in one hand, rapidly losing herself in the pages. She rested her back against the abnormally bare bookshelf, and Kate leaned in closer to get a look at the title._

"_Oh, David Sedaris. I'm noticing a trend with him," She said to the teenager, who grinned._

"_Lucky for me, my dad _loves _the man. My dad writes crime fiction, but it's amazing how much he reads. He went through a memoir-like phase."_

"_Ohh," Kate hummed, when a book caught her eye. "Chuck Palahniuk," she read from the spine, a million memories popping into her head. She had picked up Fight Club at the bookstore by happenstance. _

_Once she had picked it up, there was no putting it down, and __by the time she finished, she discovered many titles just as addicting by the author. "__Maybe we have to break everything to make something better out of ourselves," she echoed aloud, her fingers grazing the spine again._

"_When I was little, my dad was really protective of his bookcase," Alexis began. Kate, recognizing an anecdote to come, folded her legs, leaning in a little in anticipation. _

"_His office in general, really, but his bookcase, especially. He would put up play pen upon play pen to keep me out, but let me tell you, the second I could walk, this was my favorite part of the house. But when I was, oh, I don't know, in the first grade or so, and the picture books didn't cut it, he surprised me. _

_He would lift me up to a high shelf near the ceiling that I couldn't reach and hold me there until I found one I liked- and Kate, let me tell you, I was a really indecisive child."_

_Kate couldn't stop the laugh that flowed out without permission."Why do I find that hard to believe?"_

"_I was, trust me. Anyways, when I finally picked a book- something insanely large and heavy- he would set me down, pull me into his lap, and read it to me." Her story drifted away as she was pulled further in by the memory, her smile the only indication._

"_That sounds really nice, Lex," Kate told her, the nickname escaping just as the laughter did a moment before. When had it become such an endearment? _

The sound of the vacuum jerked Beckett from her thoughts, the image of her and Alexis sprawled across the office she stood in fading away to the harsh reality of the present. The office was cold, and although the books all sat in their rightful place on the shelves, now sorted by author and alphabet, it seemed very empty.

**…**

When had finally put away the vacuum, a knock came at the door. Her eyes immediately darted to his, gauging his reaction. His eyes moved just as fast as hers, meeting the direction of the front door before meeting hers.

It was impossible to describe the look in the blue orbs that held hers- hope, excitement, worry, fear. He didn't run to the door, because as hopeful as he was, he was also very afraid of disappointment. She followed close behind him- closer than was probably necessary.

When Castle opened the door, both let out a sigh. Ryan and Esposito stumbled through the door, covered from head to toe in snow. The shuffled in without invitation, longing for the warmth the apartment promised. Esposito was running his mouth a mile a minute, aware of the awkward moment that almost took over.

"We checked the spots you told us, Beckett. We traced her route from school, talked to Paige and got a statement from both her and her mother."

Kate shut the door and took position incredibly close to Castle, telling herself he needed it more than she did. "I'm going to want to read those notes- and Ashley?"

It was Ryan who spoke, taking off his hat and shaking off the snow. "We talked to him and his parents. Neither have heard from her. The last time the boy heard from Alexis was a phone call at about 6:30 tonight. He said that he was under the impression that she was at Paige's. We were discrete as possible, Beckett, but he was worried. He's a smart boy, he knew why we were asking."

"The boyfriend!" Castle suddenly burst, making Kate jump slightly. "Why didn't I think of that?" He was addressing her, of that much was clear by the look he was giving her. Desperate and disappointed. "I should have thought of him." He finished, his voice significantly lowered. Now he was looking anywhere but at her or the boys.

Without consciously deciding to, Kate reached out, rubbing his arm up and down. She forced his attention to her, forcing him to meet her gaze and hold it. "That's why you called me, remember?" she said, simply. The look they shared coupled with the silence that ensued dragged on a long moment longer, before he nodded- almost imperceptivity, and they realized the other occupants of the room.

She released him, clearing her throat and avoiding the looks her two friends were giving her. Before she could speak, though, her phone bleeped, saving her. "Beckett," she answered. "Huh. Okay. Keep watching it? Don't worry about it. No. Okay. Thanks." And with that, she ended the call. All three men were looking at her, expectantly. "That was Kim at tech. She tried to trace Alexis's cell, but it was turned off. She's going to keep an eye on it in case it turns on."

She took a long, deep breath before she spoke again. "Ryan, I want you to go get Martha- she should be finishing up the third act at the St. James right about now. Esposito, I want you to call in the missing persons."

"Beckett, it's only been-"

"I know how long it's been," She stopped his rebuttal short. It had only been a few hours, and none of them wanted the case to be buried under others. "Report it to the captain."

Esposito, who knew better than to argue further, only nodded, retying his scarf around his neck.

"I want to go look," Castle spoke, suddenly. Beckett's eyes darted to meet his. She was waiting for this part, and expected it just as much as she dreaded it.

"Castle-"

"I need to do something," he cut her off. "I can't just _sit _here and wait for people to do this for me- I have to go and see for myself." _Please, Kate, _his eyes pleaded.

"And if we are all out there and she gets home? What about your mother, Rick?" She asked. _What about me? _She looked to Ryan and Esposito, who stood there, voyeurs to their discussion. The look she gave them sent them out the door.

Once they were alone again, Castle sighed, in a sort of defeat, moving away from her and back to the living room, where he threw himself unceremoniously on the couch. The news was on the television, mute in neon green letters at the bottom of the screen. The only sound came from the radio, and the familiar sound of coffee brewing coming from the kitchen.

She pulled her bottom lip beneath her teeth, debating on her next course of action. She wanted to follow him, she wanted to pull him into a tight hug and sit incredibly close and make it better. That's what she wanted to do.

Instead, she took out her phone, pressing a number into the keypad. It rang a few seconds before a sleepy voice answered. "Hello?" it asked, the effects of sleep fogging the greeting.

"Will, it's Ka-" she stopped herself, shaking her head. "It's Beckett." She swore she heard him sigh, and she let out a breath of her own. She had a nagging feeling that she was going to regret this.

"What?" Kate?" She could hear him getting up and shuffling around, where ever he was. He was whispering into the phone. "What is it?"

"Who is it?" she heard a muffled female voice ask in the background.

"It's just work, babe," Will said, not into the phone. Kate winced. This was awful. She heard a door open and then close, and his voice returned to the receiver. "What in god's name are you calling me at three in the morning for?"

"I need a favor, Will," she winced again, hating the way the words tasted in her mouth.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice softening. Those were not words you heard Katherine Beckett say every day. Or ever, for that matter. "Are you working a case?"

"It's Castle," she explained, carefully. "His daughter has been MIA and-" he didn't even let her finish.

"What's the address?" She relayed off his street and apartment number, silently thankful of how gracious he was being about all of this. God, she hoped she didn't regret this.

When she hung up the phone, she joined Castle in the living room, sitting abnormally close. She reached out, grabbing his hand once more. She couldn't stop touching him- just to make sure he was there. She'd seen what this sort of thing did to parents- to people. She couldn't let that happen.

"I called Sorenson. He's on his way."

"Your ex-boyfriend?" he asked, jerking back to reality. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

"Most people know him as an FBI agent who is damn good at his job," she pointed out, and he immediately understood.

"Thank you," he murmured in reply, catching her by surprise. She was notoriously oblivious when it came to men competing over her, but she wasn't so ignorant that she didn't realize the tension that had developed between the two men.

"For?"

"Don't play coy, detective," he turned, giving her a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. It was the only sign that he was still _Castle, _and she latched onto that fact like a lifeline. "Thank you."

She mirrored his weak smile, looping her arm in his, their fingers still laced together, tightly. She rested her head against his shoulder, once again unsure who needed the comfort more; she or him.

And so, they waited some more.

**...**

_Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it._

_Terry Pratchett__  
_


	3. Kate

_To Andy, for coincidences._  
_And Hemily, my dead. Believe it or not, I spelled coincidences right the first time I typed it. You should be proud._  
_I love you both (kind of a lot)._

**Kate**

...

**3:18 a.m.**

She would need to take a position. The ranks were forming on either side of her, and rapidly. Soon, she would be left in the middle of the battle field, trying to remain neutral and fight for both sides at the same time.

Will, Ryan, and Esposito stood on one end, and on the opposing side of the analogy, stood Castle and Martha. In the far distance, somewhere in reality, she heard a knock at the door. When she rose from her position on the couch to answer the door, Castle didn't let go of her hand right away.

"What is it?" she asked him, her voice soft.

"That will be mother?" he asked. His eyes were glazed over and far away, looking at some spot on the wall instead of her. She brushed the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand.

"Probably."

"Okay," he replied, and released her hand. She made her way to the door, her own mind still waging war with itself. It was indeed, Martha.

Martha just stood in the door a moment. She looked at Kate, eyes wide, then at the apartment, then at Detective Ryan, then at Kate again.

She sucked in deep breath, obviously composing herself, before she touched Kate's shoulder, a silent thank you, and proceeded into the loft. It would have been amusingly dramatic if it weren't so damn serious.

Kate looked from Ryan to the living room, where Martha was on the couch, her son wrapped up in her arms. She watched as the older woman patted his back, his arm, his leg, whispering positive thoughts into her sons ear. Comforting him in a cliché sort of way only mothers were allowed to.

There was a pang of loss low in Kate's chest.  
And it was then her mind was made up.

She walked into the kitchen where Esposito was pouring himself a third cup of coffee. "Beckett," he greeted, unable to hide his surprise. He figured she'd be in with Castle.

"Esposito-" she bit her lip, unwilling to ask for yet another favor. "Javi-will you take point on this one?" It came out a question, and for once, she meant it as one. She still couldn't believe she was benching herself, and judging by the look on Esposito's face, he couldn't, either.

He set the coffee mug and turned to face her, the surprise melting away into a solemn sincerity. "Yes," he told her, keeping his answer simple. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but promptly closed it. A knock came at the door, and she was jerked back to the man in front of her when she felt him touch her arm.

"I'll deal with Captain America," Esposito assured her. "You go be Kate."

"Giving out orders already?" she asked him, in her best attempt to cover up her relief. And then, with a small smile, "thank you."

She left the kitchen to meet Martha and Rick in the living room, where they were still talking in hushed tones. When Kate sat, she pulled an ottoman up to the couch rather than sitting on it, so she could face both of them. Almost instinctively, and without cognitive permission, Castle reached out to her, grabbing her hand in his and holding it, tight.

She stared at it for a moment, as if it weren't something they had been doing for the last four hours. As if it were odd, strange. Maybe it was the meaning in it now.

The fact that she chose him.  
The fact that she would always choose him.

She cleared her throat, tearing her eyes away from their joined hands.

"Agent Sorenson is here," she explained. "He's with the FBI," she directed at Martha. "They are going to come in and ask you the same questions I did, Castle. I know it sucks and I know you don't want to, but you're going to have to run through it one more time, okay?" she asked him, staring at him intently, silently begging him to look up and meet her gaze.

He kept his gaze downcast when he nodded his head.

"They are going to want to talk to you, too, Martha," she told the older woman, who, unlike her son, met her eyes evenly.

"And after that?" Castle asked, the sudden strength in his voice surprising even himself.

"I don't know," she stated, hesitating before adding, "that's not my call." _Anymore. _He heard the omitted word, even though she didn't say it. It was then that he lifted his eyes to meet hers, the meaning of her words not escaping him.

A squeeze of her hand was his thank you.

**...**

Will came with two men- Baylor and Crews, who stood by his side, obediently. "Where's Beckett?" He asked Esposito, when he opened the door.

"Living room with the-" Esposito stopped short. "Her family." This earned an arched eyebrow from Sorenson. "I'm the detective of record on this one."

"So it's an official case, then?"

"Yeah," Esposito retrieved a manila folder he had been putting together, handing it to the FBI agent. "Alexis Castle, 17. Last seen at approximately 10 last night."

"You mean she's been gone for, what, 6 hours?"

"She's a minor."

"She's a seventeen year old girl, she's probably out sneaking into some club," Sorenson gestured to the large bay view window, where the city, still glowing despite the hour, unfolded.

"Not this seventeen year old girl," Esposito kept his voice level and professional.

"Do you know how many times I hear that a day?"

"Listen," the detective cut him off before he could go any further. "Do you think Beckett would call you if she didn't think there was something seriously wrong with this picture? I know it's a small window, and I know it's hard to imagine a teenager in this city abiding curfew, but it's uncharacteristic of her to miss it, and I will be damned if she doesn't get home in one piece."

There was a few beats of silence between the man, Sorenson debating the odds of the other man backing down. Esposito spoke again.

"Those are my partners in there. I don't care about protocol or time windows, we look out for our own."

"Okay," Sorenson breathed, caving. "Tell me what you've covered so far."

**...**

Sorenson interviewed Martha first. The woman was calm, and responded with the patience of someone who was familiar with the routine. The interview didn't turn up much, except for the contact information of the missing girl's mother in L.A. Sorenson thanked her before offering the lame condolences he was trained to before he moved on to Castle.

He moved into the living room, where Castle was sitting on the couch, and next to him, sitting on an ottoman pulled up to his side, sitting with her legs folded over one another, was Beckett. His eyes flicked from her face, to his, to their hands, which were clasped over her knee. He felt like he was witnessing something he shouldn't, but he couldn't look away.

"Do you want me to stay?" she asked Castle, leaning towards him and dipping her head so only he heard.

"No," he assured her, quietly.

"I'm going to be in the kitchen if you need me, okay?"

"Thank you," she released his hand as she rose, reluctant to leave his side.

When Kate had disappeared into the kitchen, Sorenson sat down at a comfortable distance from the writer. "Castle," he nodded his greeting.

"Sorenson," Castle nodded as well, and Will would be lying if he wasn't surprised by the lack of animosity in the man's voice.

"These questions are going to be difficult and some of them uncomfortable," Sorenson warned, gently. Fathers were always the worst.

"Will they bring her back?" Castle asked, lifting his eyes to meet Sorenson's.

"Yes." Truthfully, the odds rested somewhere in the middle, but Castle didn't need to hear about the maybe's. He needed answers, and he needed reassurance.

Things were about to get really messy.

**...**

**4:23 am**

Kate was pacing the kitchen floor, her hand threading her hair and the other cradling a cup of water. She watched the scene before her unfold and it was like watching a silent movie. Will stood, speaking, questioning Castle, who sat on the couch. His elbows were balanced on his knees at his face was in his hands.

Everyone was feeling the pressure, and everyone was getting a little high-strung, Castle no exception. She saw as he grew frustrated, standing, pointing, yelling. She heard none of it- where she didn't want to or was just too far from herself to register noise she wasn't sure. All she could see were mouths moving. Castle got more and more excited, and Will, the hard-headed fool that he was, fought right back.

Martha was pacing as well, she just outside the kitchen. Kate hugged her body, her long sleeves balled into her fists and her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. It was then she noticed Martha entered the kitchen. "Martha," was all Kate could manage.

If ever she just wanted to wrap someone in a hug, it was right then.

"My son is a good man, detective," Martha said, her eyes not leaving Castle. Her words hit Kate like a bolt of lightning to the heart.

"I know that," Kate replied, gulping down emotion.

"He's a good man, but he…He needs someone, Kate." Martha's eyes left the living room and met Kate's.

Her lip found home under her front teeth and she debated. She fought the war waging on her heart and she downed the rest of the water, making her way into the living room, where the men were still arguing loudly.

"Castle," she said, calmly, and when that did nothing:

"Will!" she said, her voice raising and her tone one not to be argued, boss-mode kicking in as she took charge.

Later she could curl up like a child, now-  
Now she had to hold everyone together.

Immediately the man shut his mouth, turning to her with a wild anger in his eyes.

"What?" he was still yelling, and internally she jumped, careful to keep her reaction just that: internal.

"Calm down. It's late. Castle's tired, I'm tired, you're tired. We need to take a break." The words were barely out of her mouth before both men started arguing. "Stop," she said, her voice overpowering both of them. "Will," she put a hand on his chest, and even though she was a few inches shorter, they both knew who was in control in that moment. "Fighting isn't getting anyone anywhere. You're no good burned out and God knows we could all use some shut eye."

Will bit the inside of his cheek and his jaw muscle clenched as he turned away.

"Don't fight me on this." She warned him. And with a final look at her, then Castle, then her again, he walked away. Immediately Kate went to Castle, who still stood by the couch, fury still fresh but subsiding. "Castle," she whispered, one arm snaking around his head to cup the back of his neck and the other around his waist, crushing herself into him. He tensed, at first, then relaxed in her hold, dipping his face to hide in her hair.

"I-" he began, but no other words came. After a long moment, she pulled away. "Go to bed," she told him, finding his glossy eyes with her. A small shake of his head told her he wasn't going to leave easily. "Let's go to bed," she clarified, tightening her hold on him.

She had gotten him into the bedroom and out of his day clothes- he now lay on his bed in lounge pants and a soft navy cotton V-neck. She found herself a pair of his old sweats - they fell large on her frame but it had a drawstring and she didn't really care, and a white wife beater she found in the top drawer of his dresser. She was too tired to shuffle around his things to find a t-shirt. She crawled into the bed beside him, and took in the moment.

It was the first time she had been in his bed.  
These were most definitely not the best circumstances- the circumstances that she had been hoping for, but there was no going back now.

She slid without effort into the warm confines of the comforter, reaching out with an arm and finding his waist. He turned to face her on the bed, and she scooted up on the pillow she was clutching so she could see him better. His head fell to rest on one arm where her free hand stroked his hair, lightly, soothingly.

He lay there a moment before pulling her down by a light hand on her waist, until her eyes were even with his. She expected him to say something, anything. He just searched her eyes for a long heavy moment before she spoke.

"Hold me, Castle," she whispered, her voice so light even she wondered if she had said it or not. She must have because instantly he pulled her into him, his face once again meeting her neck, just resting there, smelling her shampoo and listening to her pulse beat steadily.

"Tell me," she spoke again. Her voice was barely audible over the mixed sounds of their breathing. "Promise me everything is going to be okay." She wasn't sure who needed him to say it more, she or him, but it didn't matter cause he did- he breathed in right into her ear and she relaxed a little more.

It was the first time she had ever been in his bed.  
She had been in his arms, yes, but not like this.  
Not those kinds of whispers.

Not that kind of ache in her chest.

Heartache.

Her heart hurt for him.

For her.  
For Martha.  
For Alexis.  
But mostly for him.

No, this isn't how she wanted to end up in his arms, but here she was. Wrapped up in him as he held onto her for dear life, clothes on, lights out. She didn't dare let go of consciousness until she felt his breath on her temple even and lighten, and she was sure he had fallen asleep. She made no motion to move, just let herself slowly drift off into the nightmares that waited for her.

Lord knows they couldn't be worse than the one she was currently living.

**...**

_When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand._

_Henri Nouwen_


	4. Break

_Thank you to IMW, for all of her amazing help. Seriously, this chapter wouldn't be half of what it is without her help._  
**...**

**Saturday | 5:56 a.m.**

When he woke, light was trickling in through a half-open curtain. He took in his surroundings one by one: the mountain of pillows on which he slept in the familiar fortress around him, the neon digits of the clock on his bedside table. The rest of his bedroom illuminated by the soft white light of a sun rising behind a curtain of clouds.

He was on his back, and using him as a body pillow, was Kate Beckett. She had one arm around his waist and her head of auburn hair rested on his chest. He used the arm that was consequently draped around her to carefully readjust the comforter around her exposed shoulders.

He'd been out for two hours, and although exhaustion was tugging at him, sleep trying desperately to pull him back into its comfortable grasp, it was in vain. He was awake now, and as much as he longed for it, as much as he hoped and prayed for it, he knew that his daughter wouldn't be waiting in the kitchen.

No, in her place there were cops and agents and, if he remembered the blur that was the night before, a CSI unit. Instead of a breakfast spread of her own unique creation, his fan mail was covering every inch of the dining room table. He didn't want to sleep, he didn't want to eat.

He was angry with himself, lying in bed while his little girl could be in danger. His imagination was bad enough as a writer; as a father, it was even worse.

He sighed, blinked a few times before looking down at the woman who was in his arms.

It sounded rather inappropriate, saying she was in his arms, although technically, she was, because he knew she was holding him. He watched her sleep, completely captivated.

Her face was so relaxed, so peaceful.

His mind got away from him, returning to what seemed like lifetimes ago. Things had changed after the Dunn case. She would say he'd weaseled his way back in, but in truth, they both knew she'd let him. She'd opened up to him in a way that surprised the both of them, and when they returned from Saratoga, when they returned to the city and the precinct and their respective lives, things didn't change.

In fact, they grew closer. She spent more time at the loft- cooked with Martha, watched movies with him, and discussed books with Alexis. They had developed this sort of comfortable system.

If she had a bad day, he would turn up at her place with a pint of Ben and Jerry's. When he would lock himself in his office for unhealthy amounts of time, determined to write something, she would be there, a bag filled with enough take out to feed the entire precinct. They had grown comfortable.

He rose, carefully, being as gentle as he could, so as not to wake the sleeping woman. Once he had successfully detached himself from her grasp, untangling their limbs, he looked down at her for another moment.

She was still sound asleep, stretched out over the entire length of the bed, now that he was no longer occupying the space. She reached for a pillow, grabbing the one he was using, and pulled it to her chest, before every muscle in her body once again relaxed once again.

He stumbled into the bathroom connected to the master suite, hitting the light as he passed it, and the cold tiles shocked the bare skin of his feet. He ignored the shiver it sent up his spine and shuffled to the sink, where he turned the faucet on. He balanced his weight on his hands resting on either side of the vanity, his head bent low, watching the water tumble from the tap. He wasn't sure how long he watched it before he raised his head, staring at himself in the mirror.

He dipped his head again, cupping his hands underneath the uninterrupted stream of water flowing from the tap and washing the frigid water over his face. He did it once, twice, and on the third, he carried the freezing water through his hair, his fingers finding familiar paths to weave through.

When he looked up at the mirror again, he still didn't like what he saw, so he did it again. And again. And again.

For some reason, when he looked up for the last time, he wasn't surprised to see her in the mirror, standing behind him. She was leaning with her back against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, watching him carefully, gauging his reaction. He would have to speak first. This he knew.

"I didn't mean to wake you." When he spoke, it was like a stranger was speaking for him. He didn't recognize his own voice.

"I saw the light," she answered, quietly. "I-" he could tell she was struggling for words. More specifically, the right ones. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine," he replied, the response a reaction of auto-pilot.

"No, you're not." She held his gaze through the mirror, a hard gaze she had refrained from using until this moment. He needed to know it was okay. She needed him to know that it was okay to not be okay.

Again, he dipped his head, splashing cold water over his face.

**...**

**Saturday | 12:07 pm**

The phone was ringing.

Not the detectives' phones, not his cell phone, the home phone. It was ringing.

By the second ring, there was a flurry of commotion. Sorenson was barking orders, the CI's were scrambling to set up the trace on the phone line, another small unit was preparing the tap on the call itself, and Kate had his arm in some sort of death grip.

Things happened so fast in those 60 seconds, he could barely register it. He was being seated at the phone, and then:

"Do you want me to stay?" he heard Kate ask, her hold on his arm lightening only a little bit.

"Don't go." She settled beside him at his words, almost a plea rather than a statement. He looked up at Agent Sorenson, who, as he held an earphone to his ear, nodded. And then he picked up the phone. "Hello," he asked the silence on the other end.

"Dad?"

_It was Alexis. That was Alexis' voice. She was okay- she sounded okay- she had to be okay. It was Alexis. It was Alexis. It was Alexis. She was alive._

His heart was racing faster than his mind, and he was sure he was shaking.

"Alexis? Alexis, baby, it's gonna be okay- are you hurt? Are you okay? Where are you?" His mouth started off, shooting every other thing he could think to say. He tried to remember what he was told to do, he tried to maintain composure, but he lost all control over his reactions when he heard her voice.

For a second and a half, he was answered by silence. Nothing.

"Alexis?" he asked, and again there was desperation in his voice. There was another half-beat of silence, and then:

"Don't worry, Richard, she's still got all her fingers and toes." This voice stopped Rick's heart completely. It was not that of his daughters, but an older voice. It was older and deeper, although it was not a man's. This was both surprising and confusing. There was a sound he could only describe as a chuckle, in the background of the anonymous speaker. "For now, anyway."

"Who are you?" he demanded, his whole body tensing with anger.

"No one _special,_" was the sardonic reply.

"What do you want?" He was growing anxious. Precious seconds were ticking by, and he knew enough about ransom calls to know that they didn't drag along. "What is it, money?"

"Now why would I want your money? No, no," there was the distant laughter again. "I have no use for money."

"What is it then? What?"

"What I want is my life back. Since I can't have that, I guess I'll have to settle," the woman said.

"Settle- settle for what?" He asked before he could stop himself. He wasn't sure if he wanted the answer.

"I want everything that has ever mattered to you."

"Well you've got her," he tried to remain composed, but the anger in his voice betrayed him. "How do I get her back?"

"What? You want me to tell you?" The woman asked, amusement clear in her tone. "Want me to hand you a list of rules and guidelines, too? Agree to the terms and conditions? That's not how this works, Richard."

"Then how does it work?"

"Oh," he heard the receiver being covered, shuffled around, and then the voice returned to the speaker. "I would love to run down the policy and procedure, but I'm afraid I'm out of quarters."

And then: nothing. Nothing but the steady pulse of the dial tone in his ear. It was the loudest nothing he'd ever heard in his life. His eyes darted up to Sorenson, looking for instruction. He watched as the Agent inhaled, deeply, and then let it out with a whoosh of air.

"You did well, Castle," Sorenson assured him, his hands on his hips as he looked around the room at the CI managing the trace. The young man shook his head, solemnly.

No trace.

He watched as Sorenson paced, three steps to the right, then four steps to the left. He ran a hand through his hair before clasping his hands in front of him, both index fingers massaging the bridge of his nose as he thought. "Okay," he said, suddenly. "Rick, I'm going to want to ask you some more questions."

Castle was carefully to keep his pained reaction to the very thought of that internal.

"I want this audio scrubbed down," the agent continued. "How close of a trace did you get," he asked the CI once again.

"She wasn't on the line long enough to triangulate anything- I almost had it down to three towers, but I just didn't have enough-"

"Okay, so scratch that," Sorenson cut the young man off. "Lee, keep searching through the fan mail, and start filtering by gender. Castle-" he stopped short, and his toned softened the tiniest increment. "We can do this in your office if you'd like," he offered. "More privacy there."

"Okay," Castle nodded, and when he stood to follow the other man into the study, he didn't let go of Kate's hand. She took it as an invitation.

When they were seated in the office, Castle on the couch and Sorenson on the lazy boy opposite it, Kate remained standing. She closed the door that lead into the living area, and then circled around, closing the door connecting the office to his bedroom, as quietly as she could. It was only then did she make her way to Rick's side, sitting down and lacing her fingers with his, her arm coming to fall aligned with his on his thigh.

"Kate," Sorenson began. "You're going to ignore me, but you might not like all the answers to these questions-"

"I'm not going anywhere," she cut him short, the firmness of her voice surprising even her. Sorenson held up his hands in defense.

"Okay, but I had to warn you. Rick, I need to know what relationships you've been in. Let's start most recent and go back a month."

"Um," Castle looked at Kate, and then back at Sorenson. "Relationships?"

"Romantic ones, or ones that stick out to you in particular."

"No, no relationships." Was the simple answer.

"Two months back?" Rick just shook his head. "Three?" Again, a silent 'no.' "In the past year?" Rick just looked at the man. A part of him was regretting asking Kate to stay for this particular line of questioning. A bigger, more selfish part of him was glad she was hearing it.

"No. The last date I went on was…" he wracked his brain. "I don't know, maybe 16 months ago? I haven't been counting. It's been a while."

"Okay," Sorenson scratched out something on his notepad before clicking his pen closed. "How about publicity events? Any fan stick out to you in particular?"

"No, not that I can think of. Umm, Paula Haas- talk to Paula, she's my agent. She's in contact with the heads of security at the events, and she takes care of all the PR, maybe she can be more helpful."

Sorenson made a note before looking at the man in front of him. He was tired. He had aged years in hours, it was written in the lines of his face, and the bags under his eyes told him that last night had done nothing for him, either.

Beside the writer, Kate wasn't looking much better. She was far more composed, cleaned up and put away, but then again, she had had far more practice at hiding weakness. She held his hand, tight, her fingers wound with his as if she wouldn't ever let go. He started to ask the nature of their relationship, but thought better of it and stopped himself short.

"I know it's been a few years, but do you remember around what time you started following Detective Beckett?" He asked, hoping for at least a near-accurate answer.

"March, right?" Rick looked to Beckett for verification.

"Yeah, of oh-nine. Why?" she asked Sorenson, although she had an idea. An idea that disguised itself as a heavy weight in her heart. When he was finished writing on his notepad, he looked up at her.

"I'm having all your case files pulled," he said. The weight dropped to the bottom of her stomach without warning, and she let go of Rick's hands to run a hand through her hair.

The very idea that this was related to her in any way- she let out a breath that shuddered through her whole body. As if in answer, Rick placed his hand on her back, using it to draw her closer. It seemed like an odd thing for him to do- comfort her when he was all but to pieces, but even now, he was hypersensitive to her emotion.

Sorenson clicked the end of the stick pen on the pad of paper he was writing on, ending the interview without words. "I'm going to start working on these leads, you two should eat something."

It was an abrupt ending, but he knew better than to waste his breath on assurances. It would only make things worse. There were some times when words just weren't enough.

**...**

**Saturday | 9:22 pm**

She wasn't sure what woke her. Maybe it was the cold sweat of the man currently cocooned around her. Perhaps it was the dire need for hydration that dried her throat. They had lain down a few hours ago- they both needed the sleep and he needed something to do. It wasn't the best solution, but it was an easy one, and although he fought her at first, he eventually complied.

She wriggled out of his hold only long enough to turn around so she was facing him, her body ending a whole head shorter than his. Her hands found his chest and she looked up, tracing his features with a critical gaze. He was dreaming, she could see it in the flickering of his eyes.

She resisted the urge to touch them, with the fingertips, with her lips, and used her hands on his chest to pull him closer for a moment. As if he could absorb some of her strength if she got near enough. She settled her head in the comfortable little nook between his chin and his shoulder, for the briefest of seconds, before pulled out of his arms completely, leaving the bed altogether.

She stumbled out of the bedroom and into the living room, her mind still foggy with the little sleep she got. She was surprised to find it completely dark, and was equally surprised by the relief that washed over her.

For a second- the shortest of seconds- she could actually pretend it was a dream. Pretend, and for an even shorter moment, believe.

She made her way to the kitchen in the dark, preferring the ignorance it let her live in, if only for as long as it took to get a glass of water and go back to sleep. She pulled out a cup from the cabinet and the pitcher from the refrigerator, maneuvering without light familiarly. Too familiarly, one might say.

She was collecting her class and heading back to Rick when she heard it- something clattering to the ground.

Almost instantly, her hand went to her hip, where, of course, her service piece was not. She relaxed only slightly, setting down the water on the counter and making her way, with caution, down the hall that branched off from the dining room.

There was the faintest of lights emanating from the second door on the left- a door she immediately recognized as the bathroom. She approached it slowly, and knocked lightly before pushing the door open.

Yellow light flooded the hall, and Kate winced, her pupils not quite ready for the stimulation, but braved it despite the sensory shock.

She heard someone mumbling- and then, when her eyes adjusted to the light- she saw who it was.

Martha was crouched on the floor, picking up pieces of what looked like was once a toothbrush holder.

"Martha?" Kate asked, softly, not trying to hide the concern.

The older woman cursed, softly, giving up her attempts to collect all the ceramic shards and falling, crumpled, on the tiled floor. "I didn't mean to wake you up, Kate, I didn't mean to-" A sniffle cut her off, and she covered her face, ashamed.

Kate didn't waste time, stepping very carefully around the sharp splinters and collapsing into a cross-legged position next to Martha. Wordlessly, she wrapped an arm around the other woman, pulling her into an awkward hug.

Martha didn't respond right away, but after a minute, the sobs took over, and she returned the younger woman's embrace. Kate had never seen the actress so…naked…before. Her emotions not hidden by a velvet curtain but right there, on her face. Pouring from her eyes and dying on her cheeks, for anyone to see. It was unnerving to see someone so flamboyant- so full of life- so broken.

**...**

_It is not good to see people who have been pretending strength all their lives lose it even for a minute. _  
_Lillian Hellman_


	5. Brave

_Thanks IMW, for your help smoothing out the rough edges.  
__And to everyone who was patient enough to wait for this chapter._  
_..._

**Sunday | 8:14 a.m.**

All that could be heard was the cacophonous scraping of forks against porcelain. It was a grating sound, and it was as if the dining room was an echo chamber. Rick looked up, and watched his mother poked at scrambled eggs, pushing them around on her plate, uninterested in actually eating them.

He switched his gaze to Kate, who sat beside Martha. She looked equally dispassionate about eating. He looked at his own plate, the eggs already cold from neglect, and instead lifted the glass of milk before him to his lips.

"Thank you, Kate." He spoke, breaking the silence before it broke him. "For the breakfast."

She looked up from her plate, swallowing hard against her bite of eggs. "You're welcome," she said. Kate looked from the man across from her to the woman beside her, trying in vain to keep the silence from getting to her.

The Castle home was many things.

Busy.  
Eventful.  
Surprising.  
Calm.  
Peaceful.

But never was it so deafeningly still.

When everyone looked like they were finished, she stood, collecting her plate in addition to Martha and Rick's on her way to the kitchen.

When she was alone in the kitchen, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She set the plates in the two-bowled sink with a loud clatter, and turned on the faucet. She was shocked when the tap flowed water hot almost immediately, but she didn't let it show as she grabbed the washcloth and dish detergent.

She didn't bother using the dishwasher, grateful for something to do with her hands while her mind worked.

Somewhere in reality, she heard the door buzzer sound, and someone open it.  
What seemed like light-years away, she also heard what sounded like Ryan talking to Castle. She listened until their voices carried, traveling farther and farther away from the kitchen.

Hours crept by feeling like years, and she watched Castle grow older as each one passed. She wondered briefly what was going through his mind. How much pain he must be going through.

There was a part of her that dreaded going back out to the dining room. Dreaded returning to see him in so much pain, to see the man she considered her best friend so hurt, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. She just couldn't make it better.

She couldn't look at Martha without remembering last night- the two of them, collapsed on the bathroom floor, crying. She couldn't look at her without thinking of the pain in the actress's unguarded eyes.

When she reached for dishes and there were none, she just looked into the empty sink, the hot water pouring over her hands, as if she couldn't make sense of it.

She turned the water off.  
Dried her hands.  
She turned away from the sink, leaning against it for support.

After a minute her legs just gave up, and without cognitive permission, she found herself sliding down, her back against the fixture, until she was seated on the kitchen floor. She wasn't sure how long she sat there; it could have been minutes, it could have been hours.

"Hey girl," Kate's eyes darted to the doorway, where the owner of the familiar voice was standing at the entrance of the kitchen.

"Lanie," she greeted, surprised to see her friend. "What are you doing here?"

"A girl can't come visit her best friend in a time of crisis?" Lanie asked. The normal sass that usually saturated her voice was gone, a soft, almost saddened attempt at humor left in its place.

Kate didn't need to glance down at herself to imagine what she must look like. She hadn't brushed her hair, let alone showered, and she was dressed in a man's tee shirt and sweatpants, curled with her knees to her chest on the kitchen floor.

Lanie took a step further into the kitchen, dropping the duffle bag she carried, before sliding down into a sitting position next to Kate, their shoulders and knees touching.

"I brought you some clothes and essentials," she said, almost lamely. In response, Kate pinched the collar of the shirt she was wearing, bringing it to her nose and inhaling.

"I feel like hell," she stated, matter-of-fact-ly.

"Look it, too," Lanie replied, answered only by a brief silence. "How's he holding up?"

"As well as one can expect, I suppose," Kate took an increased interest in the threads of her –his, shirtsleeve . When her friend's silence made it clear she wasn't accepting that as an answer, she continued. "I don't know. He's sleeping some- he wakes up every hour or so, and I know he's been having nightmares, but he's getting some sleep, at least."

"That's a detailed report." It was a statement, and it didn't have a trace of humor.

"I've been staying with him," is all Kate says. Lanie arches an eyebrow but says nothing.

"And how are _you _holding up?"

"Fine."

"Bullshit," Lanie shot back, not missing a beat. "Talk to me." Another moment of silence elapsed as the held each other's eyes, which grew uncomfortable fast, providing their propinquity. It surprised neither of them when Kate's gaze softened first.

"I'm…" Kate began, searching for words to describe exactly how she was.

_Lost. Confused. Torn. Sad. Heartbroken. In love. Emotionally unstable. Confused. Tired. Worried._

"I'm…I don't know. I'm a lot of things." She scrunched up her face, displeased with her own lack of an adequate word.

Lanie did something that was, quite frankly, out of character: She waited, watching her friend as she struggled to organize her thoughts and feelings, her eyes once again downcast. When she lifted her stare back to Lanie, the emotion in them was almost painful to see.

Lanie's arm came around Kate's shoulders instinctively, holding her friend tightly. "Where is Castle now?" the brunette asked her, forcing the parallels she was drawing between this moment, and last night with Martha, out of her mind.

"Why?"

"He can't see me like this," Kate told Lanie's shoulder as she ducked into it, her temple resting there.

"See you like what, Kate? You are allowed to be upset, too, you know," Lanie told her. True enough.

"No, I can't I need to-" Kate was retreating now, lifting her head and rubbing her eye with a sleeve-covered hand. "I can't- He can't see-"

"Katherine Beckett," Lanie almost exclaimed, her tone changing from soft to authoritive without trouble. She squeezed her friend's shoulder tightly, forcing her to stay put. "You have every right to be upset. You don't have to be so damn strong all the time."

Kate was rubbing at her eyes furiously now, even though her tears remained unshed.

"He needs me to be strong," Kate said, and for the first time, she turned her filter off. Lanie always had that effect on her. "He needs that, Martha needs that. I didn't give up lead on the case so that I could cry about it."

"I'm not asking you to cry about it, honey," when Lanie squeezed her shoulders this time, it was affectionate. "But be honest. To yourself and him. You can't be robot-Kate and be okay at the same time."

"I know," the admission was let out on a heavy exhale. She looked at Lanie. "This hurts," she confessed, exasperated, an airy almost-laugh escaping her.

Lanie chuckled, lightly, giving her friend another squeeze. "Love is like that sometimes."

**...**

**Sunday | 10:35 p.m.**

He was up to cleaning again. Moving around to pass the time, vacuuming to drown out his thoughts, rearranging things like a puzzle to keep his hands occupied. She was sitting in his desk chair, the long sleeves of the cotton v-neck she stole from him curled into her balled fists as she wrapped her arms around her legs, holding them to her chest.

She watched him until she started making herself uncomfortable, and when that happened, she took interest in her toes, all ten of the bare digits poking out from under the baggy sweatpants. After a while, they got cold, so she tucked them back under the hem of the sweats and moved her gaze to her surroundings.

She took in the towering bookcases. It would be more appropriate to call them walls-with-many-shelves, as they stretched as tall as the ceiling.

She admired the titles- ranging from the competition- Patterson, Canell- to the classics- Hemmingway, Dickens, Eyre- for some reason, the latter didn't surprise her. There were novels, and collections, and books of poetry and prose. On the top shelves, a thin sheet of covering encased the books, and behind what she imaged was sliding glass, sat a collection of first editions. His library was impressive, and Kate felt herself growing envious of it.

What wasn't adorning books was covered with framed pictures. There was a succession of them branching from the wall/bookcase; these were her favorite. The first was of Martha. It must have been taken many years ago –seventeen, if she was judging by the size of the newborn in the woman's arms.

Next to that was one of Rick and Alexis. The lighting suggested indoors, and the floor in the photograph screamed school gym. Lack of shoes, presence of socks, and the way Castle was spinning the little red head around told her the rest.

It continued on –Martha holding up her Tony, wearing a long evening gown and a huge grin.  
Alexis on the carousel at Central Park.  
Rick, his mother on one arm, his daughter on the other, at a book release party.  
Ryan, Esposito, and Rick gathered around Ryan's desk, all fast asleep.

She couldn't help the smile that crept on her face at the memory, and at the realization that she had taken that photograph. She knew it was there, she had seen it plenty of times before, but it never failed to remind her how much their lives were truly entwined.

Four years ago, he was just an author she admired, and now there was a picture she took hanging next to one of him and his family.

It was only then did her eyes fall to the desk she was sitting at, and she saw it: the picture frame sitting there, too.

She was shocked to see herself staring back from the black frame. She was folded into Castle's arms, her own around his waist, the height difference extremely noticeable and in her opinion, perfect. She was smiling for the camera, but Castle had turned to face her, his nose just brushing her temple, and just looking at it brought back the feel of his lips touching the same place.

Kate wasn't sure if two minutes or two hours had passed as she stared at the photo, losing herself in the context of it all. That long weekend at her father's house. After she had relived every second of those three days, she began musing on what it all meant.

If the picture of Castle, Ryan, and Esposito was a reminder of how their lives were tangling, then the picture sitting on his desk was an alarm without a snooze button. She hadn't even known he kept it, let alone framed it. Again, she caught herself smiling.

The sound of the vacuum stopped, and the change jerked Kate from her reverie. Her smile changed from reminiscent to sad when she watched Rick wind the cord up and put the vacuum away, tiredly. She glanced at the clock, and decided it was late enough for them to at least attempt to sleep.

She stood, silently, grabbing his hand without preamble and dragging him into the bedroom. By now he'd caught on, and he knew the drill. She eyed the duffle bag she had tossed in the corner earlier- the one Lanie had brought over. After a moment's consideration, she turned to her partner.

"Rick I'm gonna take a shower," she informed him, as he was pulling off the shirt he had been wearing for the last two days. If he was surprised by her sudden decision, he didn't show it.

"Of course," he said, discarding the shirt into the hamper beside the bathroom door. She had showered at his place before, but never in his bathroom. "I'll uhh…" he seemed to look around for his manners as she shifted from foot to foot, uneasily. "I'll get you some towels."

**…**

The scalding water hit her skin, unrelenting and unforgiving in its attack. If fell across her back, leaving angry red marks behind. Kate rested her forehead on the cool glass of the stall, a sharp contrast to the hot water, and exhaled, slowly. She didn't waste time, grabbing a white scrubber and his body wash.

She popped the cap, inhaling the smell- it smelled like _him-_before pouring it on to the poof and scrubbing it into her skin. She poured a generous amount of shampoo onto her hand and washed her hair thoroughly, rinsing it until she could easily run her fingers through the brown locks.

She scrubbed her body again, for measure, and stood facing the showerhead with her eyes closed until at last she felt clean again.

She turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing the white towel Rick placed by the shower and wrapping herself in it. When she stumbled, dressed only in the towel, into the bedroom, the room was cloaked in black and the large lump on the bed that was Rick seemed to be fast asleep.

She tip-toed further in, leaving the bathroom door open, the light pouring in consequently. She first made her way to his dresser- the drawers of which she had grown familiar with. She grabbed a t-shirt blindly from the top drawer and a clean pair of drawstring pants from the bottom, holding the garments in one hand while holding up her towel with the other.

On her way back to the bathroom, she grabbed the duffle bag from the corner.

It was only after the bathroom door had re-closed with a click, that she dropped the towel, running it over her body quickly before tossing it over the shower door. She rummaged past all the clothes in the duffle bag until she found a pair of underwear. Beneath a pile of clothes she found a stringy, lacy thing with a sticky note attached.

_For when you bring her home.  
Well, after you bring her home.  
Less awkward that way.  
L_

Kate read the sticky note, and for the first time in what seemed like years, she broke out into a laugh. It was small and quiet, but a laugh, coupled with a true smile. For some reason that yellow sticky note held so much hope- so much possibility and promise that things were going to be okay.

She smiled again before finally she pushed the scanty underwear away, grabbing a more practical cotton pair and slipping them on. After that, she shoved her legs into that of his sweatpants, and pulled what turned out to be a grey v-neck over her head.

She once again began searching through her bag until she found it- her mother's necklace, tucked in the front pocket of the duffle. She slipped it on, adjusting it so the ring fell properly and tucked it beneath the neckline of the shirt.

When she left the bathroom this time, she was careful to turn off the light before she opened the door, tip-toeing into the bedroom. She gently set the duffle bag next to the closet and gingerly slipped under the comforter, moving slowly as to not disturb Castle's sleeping form.

When she was sufficiently snuggled into the pillows, the covers wrapped tightly around her, she rolled over to her side, her arms stretching languorously underneath the pillows.

She just lay there, contemplating Lanie's words. She was unbelievably comfortable, but sleep would not come, her mind too worked up to even consider resting. Her brain was moving fast, memories coming like a silent film stuck on fast forward than thoughts.

_Martha, crying in her arms.  
Alexis, covered from head to toe in flower and confectionary sugar.  
Lanie, assuring her everything is going to be okay.  
Alexis, sitting on Kate's bathroom countertop, admiring her collection of lipstick.  
Rick, grabbing for her hand like he was drowning and only she could save him.  
Alexis, falling asleep, using the detective as a pillow, during a viewing of Wall-E.  
Sorenson, looking at her like she needed fixing.  
Rick, asking her to stay with him during the interview with Sorenson.  
Alexis, calling her after her crushed asked her out.  
Calling after her crush- then boyfriend of 4 months- broke up with her. _

Kate only stopped thinking when she felt the man beside her move. She couldn't see him because she was facing away, but he was definitely moving, rolling over. It was then she felt his breath on the back of her neck- it took every fiber of her being not to shiver.

His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, pulling her until she was tight against his chest. His nose was in her hair, his breathing soft, calm.

And then he began to speak.

"I went on tour a few months ago. Not tour-tour- I didn't leave the city, but it was the release of 'Packing Heat,' and I had been doing the circuit- parties, readings, conferences, that sort of stuff."

Kate first wondered why he was telling her this- she remembered quite clearly- then it hit her_- he thought she was asleep._

"I had been really busy, away from home, away from the precinct. I came home one night- well past midnight- to find you and Alexis, curled up on my bed. There were tissues everywhere- a half-eaten pint of Ben and Jerry's with two spoons on the nightstand, the Collectors Edition of Golden Girls that you still deny owning, playing on the television."

The arm that had encircled her waist was now running up and down her arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake, and beneath her pillow, his fingers found hers, tracing them lightly before entwining them.

"It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened- she and Ian had been fighting the last few days, and I should have seen it coming." There was a long pause, and she felt his heavy exhale across her cheek. "I couldn't be there for my little girl, and it killed me. I couldn't help her or comfort her or make her laugh- but you were there. You were there for Alexis when she needed someone."

Now his breath ghosted over her ear, and she forced her breathing to remain normal.

"I-" His voice cracked and there was a pang in her chest. "I'm scared, Kate." There was another long pause, and if it weren't for the puffs of air or the feeling of his fingers traveling up and down her arm, she would have believed he fell asleep. "I'm scared out of my mind. I don't even know what to do with myself. I feel like-" he broke off, and once again buried his face in her hair.

She smelled like him.  
Another sigh.

"When I came home and saw you two there, I wanted you. God, I wanted you even more at that moment than ever. I almost told you- that morning at breakfast. I almost told you how much I loved you- how much I still do love you."

It was a physical effort now, breathing normally. The way the words were whispered against her neck made her want to shudder.

"You were there then," he told her, planting a long, soft kiss to her temple. "And you are here now," he squeezed her fingers under the pillow as if to prove this.

"And I'm a little less scared."

**...**

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage._  
_Lao Tzu_


	6. Drown

_I'm trying to break the habit of apologizing for late postings- really, I am, but I don't mean to take such a ridiculous time. Really.  
__Thank you to Phalangesbyfive and to IMW for their lovely beta work.  
And to Andy/Bugg/Annie/Dre for being such a sweetheart. _

_And without further adieu-_

**_Drown  
... _**

**Monday | 8:11 a.m.**

"Who's gonna go get her?" Esposito turned to Ryan and Sorenson, who had congregated in Castle's study. In response, Sorenson threw up his hands. "I'm out," he said, walking away, leaving the two partners to sort it out. That was a whole other can of worms and he was not about to open it.

Ryan looked from the bedroom door to his partner. "You're lead detective, bro," he reasoned. The look on Esposito's face was one of resignation, and Ryan knew he'd won.

"Go fix her some coffee," Esposito ordered, before he took a deep breath and pushed open the bedroom door.

The only light poured in through a break in the heavy curtains, the sunlight illuminating the bed in the center of the room. Javier put on his detective face, distancing himself as far from the scene as he could before he dare approach the bed.

Business as usual.  
Nothing weird about this.  
Nothing weird at all.

On the right side of the bed, he made out the shape of Kate Beckett, and curled tightly around her, Rick Castle. He crouched by the bed, placing a hand on her arm, gently.

"Beckett," he hummed, equally as soft. Without moving, she made a disgruntled sound of acknowledgement. He shook her only just, repeating her name.

She turned her head to face him, blinking furiously. He left his hand on her arm as she processed her surroundings. "Javi?" she croaked, sleep still fogging her voice. "Whaddareyoudoin' here?"

He smiled softly at her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"I have something you need to see," he told her, choosing his diction carefully. He didn't want to alarm her. Or to piss her off before she had her coffee, for that matter.

"'Course," she mumbled. "E'ry thing okay?" she asked, not making any effort to rise. Esposito couldn't even entertain the idea of lying to her.

"No," he answered simply. The blunt answer had the effect he was aiming for. Her eyes shot open and she seemed hyperaware of the man around her. She turned, ever so slightly, to look at Castle, who was still sleeping soundly. She turned back to Esposito.

"Give me five," she told him, and he nodded, standing and leaving her to extricate herself from Castle's hold.

Papers covered the dining room table. Case files, mug shots, cell phone records, fan mail- there wasn't a speck of hardwood to be seen. On top of all the clutter sat a brown box. It was unmarked, no postage, no address, and it was opened at one end.

"What the hell is this?" Kate asked. She emerged from the bedroom, dressed and wide-awake. She had pulled her hair back with a rubber band and pushed the sleeves of her tee shirt up to her elbows- a sure sign that Detective Kate Beckett was awake and ready to work.

She approached the three men standing around the table, her arms crossed. Ryan rushed forward, handing her a mug of coffee. Kate smiled gratefully as she accepted the black cup, not failing to notice the particular mug he had chosen. She brushed her thumb over the letters adorning the hot ceramic, staring at the word with a soft smile on her face as she remembered the day she unwrapped it.

_Kate was sitting on the barstool in the kitchen, laughing over one of Castle's ridiculous anecdotes, when the front door opened and closed. A moment later, Alexis came into view, all smiles. _

"_Hey 'Lex," Kate greeted, as the teenager tossed her book bag onto the couch, sliding into the stool beside her. "How was your day?" Her eyes flickered down to the bag in Alexis' hand. _

"_It was good," the redhead replied, cheerfully. "Hey dad," she greeted her father, who was behind the island, working on dinner. _

"_Hey Pumpkin," he smiled, warmly. Alexis turned to face Kate, her hands fidgeting with the bag in her hand, nervously._

"_So Kate," Alexis beamed. "I realize that you just got settled in your new apartment, but I wanted to make a sort of contribution. To make your new place more... well, home-y, I guess. I realize you don't want it to be exactly like your old place, I mean it's not the same by any stretch of the imagination. Anyway, I wanted you to have something as a token of my gratitude. For you know, putting up with my dad and all." The teenager was talking a mile a minute, and Kate smiled._

"_Lex," she interrupted, the nickname slipping out for the second time without thought. In response, the girl shoved the bag into her hands. _

"_Technically, it's for the both of you," she clarified, as Kate started pulling tissue paper from the bag. At the mention of presents, Castle directed his attention away from the vegetables he'd been slicing, and both father and daughter watched as she eagerly tore in to the bag. Both Castles watched her eagerly as she tore into the bag, pulling out one mug, and then another, setting them beside each other on the counter. _

_Each were black- one of the ceramic mugs had 'ARMED' written in small typewriter font. The other was similar, the typewriter letters spelling 'DANGEROUS'. Kate couldn't suppress her wide grin._

"_Alexis," she told the girl, taking her hands in her own. "Thank you." Not knowing how to express her gratefulness, Kate settled for the two simple words. The younger woman mirrored her cheerful smile. _

Kate turned the mug carefully, as to not spill the steaming hot liquid, tracing her fingers over the five letters as she remembered that day. The cups were a pair, and she refused to separate them. It never really made it home with her, and the residue of the memory left a sad smile on her face.

"Yo, Becks," Esposito called, and she landed back in reality with a jolt. Sorenson, Esposito, and Ryan were all looking at her, eyebrows raised. "You with us?"

"Yeah," she shook her head, slightly, forcing herself to concentrate. "Sorry. What did you need to tell me?" In answer, all three men shifted their gaze from her to the box in the middle of the table. She followed their stare, eyes landing on the package.

"What the hell is that?" she asked, her voice sharp and clipped. There was a heavy pause, as if she were a teacher and they were student that didn't want to be called on. She looked around at the semi-circle they formed around her, using her best intimidating stare. "Don't you dare make me ask again," she threatened.

Esposito shifted from one foot to the other.  
Ryan dropped his gaze.  
Sorenson spoke.

"A cell phone." She turned her hard gaze to him, silently demanding that he elaborate. "We found it on the doorstep when we got here this morning."

Castle woke alone. He sat up, rubbing his eyes wearily. Beside him, the bed was empty, but the sheets were still warm. She must have just gotten up. He climbed out of the bed, running a hand through his hair as he shuffled, barefooted, into his study and then into the living room.

He heard it first.  
The yelling.  
Then, as he made his way across the living room, he saw it, too.

Kate was a good head shorter then Sorenson, but in this particular moment, she couldn't have been larger. She was poking him in the chest with her finger, and although she was yelling for half of the neighbors to hear, it was unfolding like a silent picture.

"How the _hell _did this creep manage to put a box _on the doorstep _without being seen?" She was yelling. Castle heard her, but it wasn't registering. "You have what, Will, eight Federal Bureau Investigators and the best of the twelfth here, and you're telling me someone made it in, left a present, and back out without any sort of interception? How the hell does that happen?"

She didn't want to hear about the building's breach of security, or the stolen uniform they found abandoned in a closet down the hall from Castle's front door. He didn't want to hear about the witness statements the FBI were taking of the entire staff of the building, or the canvas they were doing of all the neighbors. She didn't want excuses or fixes or a press conference.

Will stood there, shoulders back, head up, eyes focused on some spot on the wall, still as a statue. When he was sure she was done, Sorenson spoke. "Kate, I'm-"

"Don't you apologize," she interrupted, pointing her finger again. "I'm not ready to forgive you." It was then that Sorenson caught sight of Rick, his demeanor changing immediately. Kate still didn't seem to notice.

"If you think an apology is going to cut it, then you are seriously delusional, because there is absolutely no excuse for this blatant disregard of-" But before she could continue, Sorenson grabbed her elbow in an attempt to bring her current audience to her attention. She yanked it back and he released her as if she were on fire.

"Don't touch me." She started in again, anger flaring in her eyes as she stopped pacing and turned on him. This time she was silenced by the pointed look he gave in Castle's direction. She followed his gaze and when her eyes landed on his blue ones, she froze.

"What's happened," Castle asked, his voice coming out half as strong as he'd hoped. Kate snapped her mouth shut fast and hard, biting the inside of her cheek as she looked up at Sorenson, expectantly. As if she were asking, '_Yeah, what happened, Will?'_

"We found a package on the doorstep this morning when my boys and I arrived," Will told Castle, who just looked at him. Kate was holding her breath, waiting for his response.

The silence was heavy. Then Castle spoke.

"What was in it?" Kate let out her breath and Sorenson relaxed but only slightly. She looked like she wanted to go to Rick, to attach herself to his side where she belonged, but she stayed put.

"A cell phone," Sorenson said.

"Disposable?"

Sorenson nodded. "And a note." He reached into the box and handed Castle the note. Kate did move to Rick's side now, part of her wanting to read the note, the other just glad for the excuse to be near him.

_$25,000. We will text with an address. No cops or she starts losing fingers._

The sensation of Kate's fingernails digging into his side where she clutched onto him kept him from losing reality. He read the message again. Three times. Five times. The message didn't change.

"Can I hold on to the phone?" he asked.

"Castle." It was Ryan who interjected. "There's a chain of evidence to follow. We need to process –"

"I don't give a _damn _about your protocols," Castle's voice came out loudly and harsh. Kate's grip on him tightened slightly.

"Rick," she chastised. If his lack of emotion or rage was unnerving, then his shouting was downright frightening.

"There may be usable prints on here, Castle," Esposito explained. "We aren't doing this spite you, and we sure as hell aren't bending anymore rules that we don't have to. When we know something, so will you."

There was a heavy pause, and then: "Okay. You'll get me the _moment _that phone rings?"

"Of course." Kate felt him relax minutely in her grip. "Now are we going to talk about the money they want, or what?"

She asked, hoping to get this part over with. She didn't release her hold on Castle the entire time. She told herself she was doing it for him- only for him, just for support, nothing more. At the same time the mantra was running through her head, she knew out of the two of them, her knees would give out first.

**...**

**Monday | 10:20 a.m.**

He found himself on the kitchen floor. He was sitting, cross-legged, with his back against the island, facing the bar. Amber bottles lined up, one after the other. An impressive collection, really. Different shapes, sizes, labels, ages. He reached for one of his favorite, a 15 year Lagavulin. Sharp attack, burning finish. Just what he needed.

He rotated the bottle in one hand, holding it out in front of him. He opened the top, smelling the cap, his eyes closed. He rose the bottle to take a sip and made it halfway to his lips before he grew sick with himself.

He thought of Alexis, somewhere, needing him.  
Kate, was in the other room, needing him. He thought about what this would do to her, what she would think of him.

Alexis, somewhere in the dark, cold and alone.  
Kate, in the other room, wondering why it's taking him so long to get a glass of water.

He put the bottle back down. If he couldn't do this for himself, he would do it for her. He knew her experience with turning to alcohol as an anti-depressant, and he just wouldn't put her through that. Knowing what he knew, he couldn't. The image of her coming in here to find him here, on the bathroom floor, drunk or on his way, was painful to think about. Nothing could make him do that to her. He wouldn't.

He put the single-malt back on the shelf and pushed it towards the back. Standing, he grabbed a glass from the counter and filled it with water, making his way back to his office, where Kate was on the couch, waiting for him.

When he sat down, she instantly curled against him, ignoring any and all boundaries that may have existed three days ago. Her knees met her chest and her head found the nook of his neck as her body folded into his side, his arm falling around her.

They sat there in a long silent vigil, staring at nothing, thinking about everything, when she spoke. "Rick-" her hand fell to his thigh, pulling him from his thoughts. He looked down at her and she up at him, but just as she opened her mouth to continue, Sorenson appeared in doorway.

Castle immediately stiffened as they both looked up. "They've sent a text message to the phone."

**...**

**Monday | 12:03 p.m.**

"Shit," Kate cursed under her breath. She was eye level with the third button on Rick's shirt, the tiny microphone between her thumb and her forefinger. "It won't-" she struggled some more with the miniscule clip, trying in vain to attach it inconspicuously to the button of his shirt.

"Let me-" Rick reached down, covering her thin fingers with his own, steadying them, sliding the mic into place and tucking it in so it was hidden. Kate swallowed, looking from the button and their hands to his face.

Why she was shaking and he was calm, she wasn't sure. She did know, however, that she did not like it. Not one bit. He used the hand that wasn't covering hers to guide her by the forearm until she was standing straight.

"I don't like this," she declared, to which he slowly nodded his head.

"Me neither."

"Let Ryan make the drop," she asked him, although it came out as a statement. This time, he shook his head. Before he could acknowledge her request with words, though, Sorenson strode into the room.

"So Castle, relay the plan to me, one more time," the FBI agent demanded.

"I take the taxi to Canal street and get off by Sambucas Café at Mulberry. I wait for further instructions via text," he relayed the plan almost robotically. Sorenson handed him the cell phone and a heavy blue duffle bag in reward.

"I'm taking the taxi with him," Kate declared, in a voice that wasn't to be argued with. Sorenson tried anyway.

"No, the message said Castle needs to go alone, that would be putting him at an unnecessary risk-"

"Don't get your britches in a knot, I won't leave the cab. I'm going."

"Kate," this time it was Castle. He had no doubt this was what she was thinking about

"No, Castle. You need to do this- I get that. I need to do this, too." She forced him to keep her gaze. "I'm not going to sit idly by." Before Castle could say anything, she turned to Sorenson. "I'm going."

**...**

**Monday | 1:26 p.m.**

The taxi was silent.

Well, other than the soft hum of the engine and the muffled sounds of techno music from the front of the cab, all to the ambiance of honking horns and city traffic, it was silent.

She was on her side of the seat, watching Castle carefully. She'd watched as he shut down, days earlier, how he'd retreated into himself, and left the shell to walk around aimlessly. She heard him mutter words that did not belong to him, say things that lacked the meaning, as well as the passion and the excitement that _was _Castle.

He was on his side of the cab, his body smashed against the door like he was bound to it by force, and for a fleeting moment laced with insecurity, Kate thought to herself he couldn't get himself farther away from her.

His hand gripped the door handle and his forehead touched the cool, fogged glass of the window, his eyes vacant as he watched the thick traffic slowly move forth. He watched pedestrians weave their way along the sidewalks, the throng of people thinning as they moved uptown. Fat, heavy raindrops hit the glass, loudly and copiously, as the wind picked up.

She longed to reach for him. To touch him.  
The sadness she saw in his eyes broke her heart to little pieces, every one for him.

That was what sent her to him.

She scooted towards him, slowly enough to be sneaky but deliberate enough so he noticed, his reverie breaking as he shot her a sideways glance. He could stop her if he wanted.

He didn't.

She continued towards him, the black vinyl beneath her jeans allowing her to slide effortlessly and without noise. She stopped when her body was pressed softly against his.

He would have to come the rest of the way.

Her hand reached for the one lying in his lap, curling her fingers with his and giving it a tight squeeze. He looked down at their hands, entwined like they belonged that way, and his eyes traveled from them, on his knee, to her, his head unmoving. His eyes asked a question that he didn't dare voice and she answered it with another squeeze to his hand.

"I love you," she said, and it came out a whisper. She watched his eyes- watched his expression change from sad and scared, to confused, and then to realization at her words. He opened his mouth, but she shook her head and he promptly closed it.

"Not now." She said, knowingly. It was only then did she see his shoulders soften and he slowly detached himself from the door he clung to, his body leaning into hers as he relaxed in her hold. Her free hand found his back and she let him crash into her, his head finding the nook of her neck, the warmth of tears staining the exposed skin there.

She didn't care.

His shoulders shook a little as he released it all- everything he had bottled up. "Shhh," she murmured into his ear, her lips brushing across it, lightly. "You're not alone in this," she told him, and another sob came at her words as she drew patterns on his back, soothingly. "I'm here."

And it was there, in that taxicab, face buried into her hair and her arms around his body, that Richard Castle came undone.

...

_"When you're drowning, you don't say 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would_  
_have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,' you just scream."_

_ John Lennon_


	7. Cost

_Thanks Emily, for being so perfect at all the right times. And by all the right times, I mean every second of every day._

_****__Cost_

_..._

**Monday | 1:32 pm**

Five blocks until the drop off.  
Five blocks until he has to get out of the cab and leave twenty-five grand in a phone booth.

He's anxious, and he's nervous, and he wants to throw up. His head is in Kate's lap, his arms around her waist. Her fingers weave through the strands of his hair.

He needs to sit up. He needs to get a grip. He chastises himself silently, then allows himself another long red light before he forces his body upright.

He leaves his arms around her waist and she slips an arm around his shoulders, welcoming the touch, needing it almost as much as he does. He watches through watery eyes as she reaches around the back of her head, and he's forced to release her with one arm.

He's confused for a moment as her head dips down slightly, but catches on when he sees the silver chain falling like water between her thin fingers. He looks from the necklace to her face and then back again, not comprehending.

She grabs his hand and forces his palm open, gently, pressing the chain and the ring into it. Without tearing her eyes away from their hands, she closes his fingers around the jewelry.

The jewelry that was so much more than just jewelry.

Slowly she lifted her eyes from where their hands were joined, her gaze catching his, almost as if she were afraid what she would see when green caught blue. She's not surprised to see the water gathering on his lashes. She's the one who speaks first. ''

"I have to get off two blocks early," she whispers. "In case they are watching."

"Kate, I-" the hand that's not holding her mother's ring falls palm-flat on her thigh.

She didn't let him finish, feeling the tears build up behind her own eyes. She blinks, furiously. "The button camera is one way. We can see and hear everything you see and hear, but you can't hear us."

He nodded, his eyes downcast once again.

"Sorenson has a team set up on the complete other side of the block in case of anything happening the way we don't want it to. Tell me one more time what you're going to do."

"I'm going to go to the phone booth outside Sambucas, drop the bag off, and catch a new cab back to the loft."

"Right." This time it was her hand that fell to his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. "We've done this before, Rick."

He lifted his gaze to hers. "Not like this."

When he exited the cab, his legs were shaky. He was surprised he could stand, let alone walk. The duffle bag slung over his shoulder was like an anchor, weighing him down. He couldn't blink without feeling it. The strap chaffed. The bulk of the bag hit the back of his knees. He never wanted to see this bag or this money ever again.

He finally saw it, the payphone. It was a wall box hanging beside a bus stop outside a shabby looking Café. He looked from the roofed bus stop bench to the payphone and shuffled towards them.

He was a foot away when the phone rang. Without missing a beat, he reached for the phone, lifting it off the hook.

"Hello?" he asked. He was both amazed and impressed with how calm and steady his voice came out.

"I see you are good at following instructions," the icy voice replied though the receiver. He was anticipating the voice, but it still sent an unpleasant chill down his spine. Hate filled his heart.

"I've got your money, okay?" He couldn't keep the anger out of his tone. "Tell me where Alexis is."

"Put the bag under the bus stop bench, Castle. Left-hand corner. Do it now, don't hang up. I'm watching you." He couldn't tell if the woman was being truthful but he decided he couldn't care less. He set the phone on the floor of the box before shuffling over to the bus bench. He let the bag fall to the concrete with a thud, and used his foot to push it, unceremoniously, under the left hand corner of the bench, as far as it would go.

When he was done, he returned to the pay phone, picking it back up. He breathed. The woman spoke.

"Good boy," she cooed. His jaw clenched. "You play so nicely."

"Where is Alexis?" he asked.

"Tell the cops and Feds sitting in the 'flower boutique' van on the other end of the block that if I don't get that money and get away clean, I have a…babysitter… with very specific instructions on exactly how to kill your daughter."

"Understood."

"Keep playing nice, Castle, and I promise to be in touch."

"Are you going to tell me where-" Castle's angry shouting was cut off by a click and then a dial tone. "Damn it!" He slammed the black phone onto the silver cradle.

...

**Monday | 2:21 pm**

Castle catches the first cab he sees, hoping Sorenson heard the kidnappers warning through the mic on his shirt. He entered the loft, where he was nearly knocked over by Martha, who didn't even wait until he was inside the apartment to crush him into a hug.

Even as his arms folded gently around the red-head's body, his face was blank. His eyes were vacant. Expressionless. There was a heavy tug at the bottom of her heart. She watched as he led his mother backwards into the apartment and shut the door soundly behind him before letting her go. Even when his eyes lifted to meet Kate's, they showed nothing.

He made his way towards her, slowly, although in a brief flash of insecurity, she noted the robotic, passionless way he walked towards her. She pushed the thought out of her mind. Right now wasn't about that. He continued stepping towards her and when he got close enough, she wrapped her arms around his waist, revealing much more hesitance than she wanted to.

"They- She- Whomever - said they would call with Alexis' location," he murmured into her hair, crushing her body into his with a lot more enthusiasm than he felt. He needed to feel her body against his- needed to feel her strength.' His face nestled further into her hair, and in response, her hands moved up and down his back.

"Did you tell Sorenson?" she asked him. She felt the nod against her head. "It will probably take a while. For them to get out of dodge and make sure the money is clean." There was another nod. Her hands moved down his sides to his hips, only to push him away enough to look at his face.

There was no hiding the moisture on his cheeks or his eyelashes. She had never seen his eyes look so clear or so blue.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

Because he didn't know if he could do anything else, he nodded.

...

He stood there.

The sounds of water filled his ears.  
Rushing water.

It was all he could hear.

He concentrated on it, watching it rush and fall gracefully from the showerhead. It hit the ceramic, bouncing up and spraying the shower wall. Water was getting all over the floor but he didn't really care. He just stood there.

He found it mesmerizing.

He was so caught up in watching the water, so consumed by the sound of it, that he didn't hear the bathroom door open, and he didn't see her walk in.

She paused a moment- watched him watch the water.

The look on his face broke her heart all over again. With a sigh, she pushed past her own urges to break down, and approached him. The hand she placed on his shoulder was what finally brought him back to earth, it seemed, or as close as he could get.

She explored his eyes with hers, searching them.  
She searched for comfort, for assurance, for strength, for life.  
She searched his eyes, looking for her best friend.

Her fingers started working on the buttons of his shirt of their own accord, starting at the top one, working downwards until she could shrug it off his shoulders. The gray-stripped garment fell to the floor in a silent, slow motion fashion she swore only happened in fiction.

If only it were.

Her hands didn't stop, pushing up the soft cotton of his undershirt, her skin brushing his skin as she dragged the material up and over his head. He did not fight her, he did not speak. She reached for the button of his jeans but to her surprise, his hand circled her wrist, lightly, leading her away.

No, his eyes said, and it's the first time they've told her anything.

He unbuttoned his jeans himself, shoving them down and kicking them away. Kate stuck her hand in the water, checking its temperature, and then after she adjusted it to a comfortable level, she grabbed his arm. She looked at him, then his boxers, thought better of_ that _idea and lead him to the shower.

He was under the spray now, the water bouncing off of him instead of the tub. She watched him a minute, carefully. He just stood there, motionless but for the swaying she knew wasn't controllable. She couldn't bear the pain in her heart the sight of him elicited.

He just _stood _there.

She sighed again; she was doing a lot of that, lately- and closed her eyes tightly, knowing her decision long before she pretended to consider it. Before she could change her mind, she stepped forward, minding the step into the tub, moving towards him until she was under the spray, too. She grabbed the corner of the shower curtain, pulling it closed around them.

"Your clothes…" he began, the first words either of them had said aloud. His eyes wandered down her body, not in a leering way, but in a confused way. As if he were a child trying to figure out a complicated algebra formula. "They are getting all wet."

It was true enough. The water was soaking right through the white crew neck and boxers she was wearing, leaving little to the imagination.

"They're your clothes," she replied, dismissively, still moving towards him.

She grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the ledge. She poured too much into her hands and rubbed them together working up a lather before reaching towards him. His bare chest was now flush against hers as she snaked her arms around his neck, burying her soap-coated fingers into his wet hair.

She moved slowly, deliberately.

He shivered at the sensation her fingers created, slowly crawling up his nape until they were scratching lightly into his scalp, massaging the shampoo in, thoroughly. This position put her face at the juncture of his neck and chest, and he could feel her hot breath every other second on the patch of skin.

It healed a part of him, that breath on his neck.  
It was healing a part of him he hadn't realized could be fixed.

His hair was now completely coated with white foamy soap but she didn't stop her calming ministrations. She used her nails to trace patterns against his scalp, scrubbing clean the grim of the past few days. When she decided she was done, she eased them around so again he was under the water and scrubbed until every bit of soap was gone before she dare looked him in the eye.

What she saw didn't break her heart, it stopped it.

"I've been so selfish, Kate," he said, and his words shocked her. It was her turn to look up at him, a child solving an algebra formula.

"What?" she asked, forgetting how to say anything else. Again he read her like a book.

"Stop being so strong. Let it go." Those three words sent a shock wave of emotions through her, emotions that, until that very moment, she had forced out of mind. They all rushed straight to her heart.

And with that, the dam finally crumbled.

...

**Monday | 4:05 pm**

He felt better. Not great, not even good, but better.

Kate was still in the bathroom, dressing and wishing away the puffiness under her eyes. He had been missing the feeling of her body against his since the moment he stepped out of the shower. The feeling of her fingers in his hair and on his skin, the feeling of her tears staining his shoulder, her hands pressed against his back, holding him close.

Shrugging away those thoughts away, he rummaged through his drawers, slipping into jeans and a long sleeved tee shirt. He ran the towel that was once around his waist through his hair and let his mind wander to Kate one more time before forcing himself to the present reality.

His daughter.  
Missing.

It was just as Kate was leaving the bathroom, dressed jeans and a sweater that fell too large over her shoulders, still toweling her wet hair, when someone knocked on the bedroom door. He froze, staring at the door, unable to detach his feet from the floor.

Kate seemed to notice his apprehension and tossed the towel into the hamper, grabbing the door handle and swinging it open. Ryan stood in the doorway.

"Did you draw the short straw this time?" she asked, more frustration in her voice than she had intended. Ryan flinched, and guilt settled in her stomach. He switched his gaze from his boss in an oversized knit sweater to the writer who had unglued his feet and managed to come up behind her.

He sucked his lower lip between his teeth before opening his mouth as if to speak. He promptly closed it, and instead pushed into Kate's hands the cell phone. She accepted it and read the screen, aware of the man behind her looking over her shoulder.

She read the message quickly and her eyes darted to Ryan's, anxiously. She could tell when Rick was done reading the message, because he let out the breath he was holding onto her neck, sending shivers down her spine. They were going to get Alexis back.

Everything was happening in flashes of colors and sounds.

Esposito was securing him into a Kevlar vest, Kate was pacing furiously in front of him, and somewhere he could hear Sorenson's voice spouting words a mile a minute. Rick was sure what the FBI agent was saying must be important, but focusing was hard, and his mind was scattered.

He was going to get Alexis back.  
He was going to see her and hug her and hold his little girl.  
He was going to get her back.

"The text message explicitly says that you have to be there," Sorenson told him and whoever else was listening.

"Like he would have it any other way," Beckett said, the usual edge of annoyance replaced by a fondness as her fingers grazed her partner's sides. He shivered despite the Kevlar between is skin and her fingertips.

"Sorenson," Kate began, her hands still lingering on Rick's vest, double and triple checking the Velcro-ed straps. "I know I'm not on the case but I-"

"I couldn't talk you out of going on the Taxi ride, and I know you better than to waste breath fighting over this, too," Sorenson interrupted. "Let's all stop pretending like we weren't expecting this and get her suited up?"

Esposito moved towards her with a vest already in hand, and Ryan handed her her service piece without further prompting. She smiled, chagrinned by her apparent predictability but relieved that her boys knew her well. She stepped back, letting Esposito strap her and slipping the gun into the holster clip.

Martha watched on as the throng of law enforcement swarmed the apartment, her son looking lost in the middle of it all. She remembered her words from a few days before: _He needs someone, Kate. _She had meant it, too. Her son needed someone to hold him together, someone who could keep him tied to reality, however painful it was.

She watched as Kate Beckett stepped into a blue vest identical to her son's and slipped her hand into his, their fingers winding together. Martha was scared. She was anxious, she was hopeful, but mostly she was scared.

She clung to the hope that this would soon be over.

...

It was an hour later that they stood in front of an old warehouse. Kate found herself desperately wishing Castle would make some snide comment about the kidnappers originality. The jokes never came.

SWAT lined in a protective arc of a front line, completely with semi-automatic weapons. Behind them, Sorenson, Esposito, and Ryan lined up, weapons drawn. Kate hung back with Rick in the last line of attack, gripping his arm, tightly.

"You let them clear the room, first, okay?" She told him for the hundredth time since they left the apartment. He replied only with a weak smile and a nod. She stepped in front of him, not quite releasing his arm. "Just stay behind me until they give the all-clear."

She looked at Sorenson, giving him the slightest of nods, and in consequence, Sorenson gave the order to breach.

The SWAT team swarmed in through the broken front doors, covering the entirety of the first floor and checking the corners of the large room. Calls of "Clear" rang through the warehouse and reverberated off the walls, and the second wave of gun-wielding men didn't enter until every inch was scoured.

Sorenson, Esposito, and Ryan all poured in, and after them, a very weary Kate. Trailing behind her, eagerness flowing off of him, was Castle.

First, he saw her: His little girl, strapped to a vertical beam in the far corner of the open room. Kate must have seen her, too, because they both broke out into a sprint.

Neither of them were surprised that Rick reached the girl first, dropping to his knees without caring about the hard concrete surface they clashed with. Her mouth was taped shut and her eyes were covered with a black blindfold. She was moving around, struggling to see or talk or both.

There was an ache of relief in Castle's chest when he realized she was conscious but it mixed with a pang of pain at her distress. With shaking, hasty fingers, he removed the blindfold first, cupping his daughter's face so her blue eyes met his own.

He watched as they filled with a fresh wave of fear. She started shaking her head, violently.

"It's okay, baby," he murmured, ignoring her obvious sign, instead peeling the tape from her mouth, carefully. "It's just me," he brushed red hair from her face, pressing his lips to her head and wiping furiously at his wet eyes. "You're okay, Lex. Everything's okay."

"Dad," her voice came out faint and hoarse. She struggled harder around the bindings that pinioned her to the concrete beam. "Dad you gotta get out of here, it's a-"

"No, honey, it's okay, they checked the place, we're safe," he assured her, too overwhelmed and overjoyed to think of anything but his little girl.

"No, Dad," her voice surprised him, and he met her gaze only to follow it, landing to a spot on her chest. A red spot. A steady, red target.

Kate didn't think twice about throwing herself between the red line of trajectory and Alexis. It wasn't something she debated or even really consciously decided to do.

There was a gunshot.  
A flash of red.  
A sharp sting in her lower abdomen.  
And then:

Nothing.

_..._

_Loyalty and devotion lead to bravery. Bravery leads to the spirit of self-sacrifice. The spirit of self-sacrifice creates trust in the power of love._  
_-Morihei Ueshiba _


	8. Okay

_And so, the last chapter.  
__Thank you Emily and Andy, for always being there.  
IMW, you are the best BETA a person could ask for- this fic would not be half of what it is without your help. Thank you.  
Readers, thank you for taking the time to go on this journey with me.  
Reviewers, thank you for encouraging me to finish this, and for your kind words.  
__Look out for the third and final installment of this series, _**'And Love Again'**_ to be posted soon. _

**Okay**

**...**

She felt as his hands fumbled over her chest, tugging at fabric, struggling with the buttons of her blouse before losing patience. He yanked, sending buttons skittering across the floor. For some reason, the little ping-ing sounds they made as they skip off of surfaces were all she could hear. His hands were cold on her waist, shaking with apprehension as they traveled up to her chest and then back down, his touch firmer that she expected.

When his hands met her lower back she gasped for oxygen, her lungs feeling empty. She choked on air- or rather, a lack of it- desperate to breathe. She felt him tug her blouse closed, suddenly conscious of her modesty, followed by the weight of his head on her stomach. As the reality of the situation sank in, she reached down, threading his hair with her fingers even as his warm tears stained her shirt.

Her free hand found the vest he had tossed carelessly aside, fingering the hole in which a bullet was trapped between layers of Kevlar. She felt her own tears slid down her temple, mingling with sweat and disappearing into her hair.

Suddenly, the ringing ping of her shirt buttons turned into the metallic clink of falling shell casings. Even after the gunfire stops, the sounds ricocheted around in her mind. A new reality sank in, and she used the hand tangled in his hair to pull Rick up to her, forcing his eyes to meet her own.

His hand found her waist again, holding himself steady, no doubt. Kate's fingers slipped from his hair and met his shoulder, pushing him up. "Go," she commanded him, as firmly as she could manage. "I'm fine. Go."

He didn't need telling twice.

He left, falling to his knees in front of his daughter, and Kate was momentarily distracted by the swarm of paramedics. She tried to push them off, to tell them they were fine, but the medics insisted.

"Go to Alexis," she choked out, pushing herself first to her elbows and then slowly standing straight, as if to prove she was okay. "I'm not hurt."

"She's being taken care of," one of the younger medics assured her, and sure enough, when she looked over, Rick was fighting to keep a hold of Alexis's hand as they moved her on to a stretcher.

She herself was whisked away- wrapped up in a blanket and ushered out of the warehouse.

She smelled like gun smoke and tasted like copper. She touched her cheek where it had become rather acquainted with the warehouse floor- the inside of her mouth stopped bleeding an hour before, but there would be a bruise to remind her of it later.

After she was poked and prodded with the cold, flat, metal of a stethoscope and cleared, she sat on the end of the ambulance, her feet dangling over the edge, she arms holding a black Police jacket around her small frame.

She watched everything unfold in the same manner as the past few days: silently. So surreal, it was like she was watching rather than living it. Compared to Castle and his family, she was only feeling a fraction of the pain. But even then, she knew she was lying to herself. She was too close. She was so far tangled in his life and his family, that when they were lit on fire, she got burned.

And the part that really got to her? She didn't even care.

Kate forced herself out of her headspace before she got lost in it, concentrating instead on her surroundings. It was the picture of a post-shoot out; she'd seen it all before.

There were a cluster of cops, working quickly and efficiently. For a lot of them, she knew this was just another day's work. For some of them, it was just another case. For others, it was that first clean-up, the one they would never forget. It was always messy when a kid was involved.

A few yards away, Alexis was laying in the back of another ambulance, a doctor on one side of her and her father on the other. He held her hand to his cheek, his elbows resting on his knees, his face hiding behind their clasped hands.

Castle was always affectionate toward his family, his daughter in particular. There were the casual head kisses and the frequent bear hugs. It reminded Kate of herself and her own father. Suddenly, she was hit with the urge to call him.

She was just reaching for her phone when someone came up beside her.

"Martha," she greeted, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. After seeing the look on the older woman's face, she rushed to explain: "I thought you'd be over there," she nodded to Alexis' ambulance.

"Four's a crowd," she explained, earning a nod from the detective. When Kate's gaze fell to the middle distance, staring but not _seeing, _Martha dropped a hand to her arm, getting her attention.

"Detective Esposito told me what you did. Diving in front of that bullet to save my granddaughter." The actress stated plainly. Kate opened her mouth, unsure of what to say.

She wanted to tell Martha that she was just doing her job.  
That she was just being a cop.

But she was tired of lying.  
To herself and to everyone else.

Sensing this, Martha continued. "Thank you." Grateful for the out, Kate covered Martha's hand with her own.

"You're welcome." The two traded smile smiles before Kate tore her eyes away. Sensing someone behind her, she turned, finding Sorenson approaching.

"I don't mean to interrupt…" he began, awkwardly. Sorenson was a lot of things, but never was he ill at ease.

"You're not, dear," Martha told him, before Kate could open her mouth to respond. "I was just leaving." With that, along with another small-but-loaded smile, she made her exit-stage-left. She watched the woman migrate to her son and granddaughter, leaving Sorenson to hoist himself up beside her.

"That could have gone better," he began.

She snorted in response, unimpressed by his opening. She was determined to concentrate on anything but him- the flashing police lights, the stitching of the police jacket draped across her shoulders, the man she loved hunched over his broken daughter- anything but the conversation she knew they had to have.

"Do we have to do this now?" she asked him. She knew she was being whiney, but she didn't care. She was tired. She wanted a shower and cold one. She wanted everything to be okay. She wanted to go home. It struck her that an image of the loft floated into her mind, rather than her empty apartment.

"Would you rather do it later?" he asked, the jest faded completely from his voice, leaving it gravelly and cold. She hated how well he knew her, even now.

She sighed and shook her head, prompting him to continue.

"The shooter was tucked into the corner of the upper level. They had cut a hole in the wall, were completely hidden. The shooter was Robert Shilling. With him, apparently orchestrating the entire operation, was Julie Tibbett."

"Tibbett," Kate echoed, her face falling into her hands. "I remember that case. Hanna Tibbett had killed her boyfriend, his mistress, and his dog. Her sister, Julie, claimed that her sister was unwell, that she needed to be in a hospital, not a jail cell. Castle disagreed, and frankly, so did I. We were both called to testify on behalf of the prosecution."

"They called Castle to the stand?" Sorenson interrupted.

"They called everyone that worked the case. Well, everyone that had a direct interaction with Tibbett. You know how they handle those insanity cases over there."

Sorenson nodded, urging her to continue.

"We both testified, but it was Castle who really sold the jury. You know how he is, he knows how to work the people like nobody else I know." There was a brief pause, and again, Kate took exceeding interest in the yellow letters of her jacket. "Three days into her incarceration, she hung herself."

"Goddamn," the man beside her breathed.

"Yeah."

"So why didn't they try to shoot Castle? Why Alexis?"

"Julie said it herself on the phone; she wanted Castle to suffer. She wanted to take what matters most to him. She wanted to lure him in, to give him a false sense of security before killing his daughter right in front of him."

"Goddamn," he repeated.

"Yeah."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pearlmutter, zipping up a body bag over the face of a woman.

"Guess we don't have to worry about going through a trial," she said, lamely, hating the words and the true relief they brought her even as they tumbled out of her mouth.

"Ryan is a better shot than he looks," Sorenson replied. Not knowing how to respond, she simply nodded, her brows knitting together. "I know that look," he told her, and for the first time of the entire conversation, she looked up at him, her eyes questioning. "You're thinking to hard about something."

The laugh that escaped her was made up of everything but happiness, and her eyes fell back to gaze into nothing.

"Go to them," he told her. Again, she looked at him inquisitively before realizing where her eyes had rested. "You want to be there. They want you there. Hell, _I _want you there." His hand fell to rest on her back, high enough to be friendly and low enough to be familiar. She leaned into his touch, wishing it was Castle's.

"It's okay, Kate," he assured her. "Everything is okay." She nodded as if to accept this. Part of her even believed it.

"I have a family I need to get back to," he looked over to the ambulance housing two redheads, a distraught father and an overworked medic, pointedly. "I think you do, too."

**...**

_The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places._

**Ernest Hemingway**_  
_


End file.
